searchers after horror

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Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places. – H. P. Lovecraft, The Picture in the House Tachikawa Air Force Base in Tokyo. Standing there breathless, wondering if at any moment a security guard will pop his head through the door. See more Japanese ruins (haikyo) in the galleries: [album id=4 template=compact] You can also see a curation of world ruins …

you know I love you still

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Who knows how long I’ve loved you, you know I love you still. Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to I will. – The Beatles Akeno Gekijo Strip Club Far too many mosquitoes in here, buzzing around and biting my arms and legs. Ugh. See more Japanese ruins (haikyo) in the galleries: [album id=4 template=compact] See …

the last dream of my soul

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. . . I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, and of this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me. Since I knew you

sound in an empty house

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Leave sound in an empty house in its own room there. . . . – William Stafford Gunma Motor Lodge I stood in the room silently and wondered; are these shadows the same shadows I’ll see in five years, in ten, in fifty? Will I recognize them? Will they recognize me? See more Japanese ruins (haikyo) in the galleries: [album …

a cloud of yellow dust flew

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In the dark room a cloud of yellow dust flew from beneath the tool like a scatter of sparks from under the hooves of a galloping horse. The twin wheels turned and hummed. Binet was smiling, his chin down, his nostrils distended. He seemed lost in the kind of happiness which, as a rule, accompanies only those mediocre occupations that …

the catacombs of Ptolemais

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For them are the catacombs of Ptolemais, and the carven mausolea of the nightmare countries. They climb to the moonlit towers of ruined Rhine castles, and falter down black cobwebbed steps beneath the scattered stones of forgotten cities in Asia. The haunted wood and the desolate mountain are their shrines, and they linger around the sinister monoliths on uninhabited islands. …

the secret of a garret-room

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Books, books, books had found the secret of a garret-room piled high with cases in my father’s name; Piled high, packed large, where, creeping in and out among the giant fossils of my past, like some small nimble mouse between the ribs of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there at this or that box, pulling through the gap, in …